Shattered
by S.H.Nessa
Summary: Deathly Hallows SPOLIERS. See, Freddie? Now you're not alone. And Fred had taken George's hand and told him how stupid he was, though both were grinning. A moment between brothers, a moment of memories and grief. Read and review.


_Shattered_

By SHN

**First of all, the inspiration for this fic came from a picture by **_**keishinkae**_** on ****deviantart.**** Link can be found here: http:// www. / deviation/60188232/**

**Take away the spaces, of course. It is a beautifully heartbreaking picture, and you should see it before you read this.**

**This contains SPOILERS, obviously.**

**I think that's all I have to say. I just had to write something after seeing this pic; I love Fred and George too much.**

**Please review, and enjoy. : )**

"Ron, could you go tell George that lunch is ready?" Molly asked her youngest son, handing Percy some dishes and Ginny the silverware as she spoke.

Ron looked uncomfortable. "Mum, I don't think he'll want to-"

"Please just go tell him," she retorted, though it was apparent from the look on her face that she didn't believe he'd come down, either.

"Okay, okay," Ron answered, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I'll go tell him." He left the room, muttering under his breath about crazy women as Hermione gave him a look from behind a large pot.

Minutes later, all present in the kitchen, (that is, everyone but George and Ron) heard a yelp, followed by a thud and some rather angry yelling. Thundering footsteps announced Ron's arrival.

"He threw something at me!" Ron exclaimed the minute he entered the kitchen, gesturing furiously at a red spot on his forehead. "I went in his room and didn't even get to say anything and he just chucked something at me!"

Molly looked worriedly in the direction of the stairs, as though hoping George might appear, then said, "Well, we'd best just leave him alone for now. I'll send something up later. Let's just eat-" she said, ushering them all to the table.

"Go on," Bill told them. "I'm going to talk to George."

"Bill-" Charlie started, and the two shared a look before Charlie nodded and looked away.

"I'll be right back," Bill assured them, and left.

Reaching the door he knew to be the twins' room- or rather, George's room now- Bill came to a halt, staring at the floor with an eyebrow raised. George had certainly had a temper tantrum, he thought to himself, stepping carefully over the shards of glass that decorated the floor. He knocked on the door, wincing at the sound of glass crushing underneath his heel. "George?" he called. "Open the door." He waited, and heard nothing. He remembered how good the twins used to be at hide and seek; no one could ever find them because they were so quiet.

"George," Bill said again, his tone a little harsher. "Open up." This time he heard a sound, though not one he could place, and the door remained closed. "George!" Bill was yelling now. "I am going to blast open the door right now if you don't let me in!" Still, the door did not open, and Bill kept his promise, knocking the door off its hinges.

Stepping forward, Bill found that the room behind the door was even worse than it had been outside. One of the beds' mattresses was torn and ripped; random joke shop items lay strewn on the floor. Bits of glass and other broken objects were scattered about, as though they'd been thrown at the walls. Bill gaped at the destruction in the room, wondering vaguely if he should call up his family; and then he saw it.

George was kneeling at the far end of the room, head in his hands, fingers pulling at his hair as though he were trying to scalp himself. A strangled sob escaped his throat as Bill neared him; the elder could now see trails of blood dripping from his knuckles. Bill, whose gaze had been fixated on his younger brother, now let his eyes travel to what was in front of George- a shattered mirror, traces of blood mixed in with the broken pieces.

Quickly putting two and two together, Bill dropped beside his brother and pulled him into a hug. "Oh, George-" he breathed softly, arms tightening around the younger as he tried to get away. "George, I- I'm so sorry. So, so sorry."

George let out another sob, trying, again, to push his brother off. "Get off, Bill- I'm fi- it's nothing- just a little cut-"

"I'm sorry, George," Bill repeated, ignoring his brother's protests. "I am so sorry."

George had quit struggling, though he was still arguing that he was fine. "J-just a cut-" he muttered.

Bill's embrace became tighter, and he sighed. "Oh, George," he murmured sadly. "George…"

And suddenly, everything George had been holding in since the war seemed to burst, swelling to an unbearable size until George thought he would physically break from the inner agony he was experiencing. He seemed to collapse from the weight of it, allowing Bill to hold him up, hold him close, hold him tight. Rivers began to stream from his eyes, choked sobs catching in his throat. He balled his hands into fists, and the pain from his bloodied knuckles increased, though it was nothing compared to what he was feeling inside.

"The- the mirror," George choked. "I looked at the mirror- I thought-" he took a deep, shuddering breath. "My face-" he sobbed. "His- looks like his- my _fucking_ face-"

"I know, George, I know," Bill murmured, feeling a tear of his own run down his cheek.

They sat there, Bill embracing his little brother as he sobbed his heart out, for what seemed ages, though neither wanted to move. A sound at the door drew Bill's eyes away from his shaking brother, and he met Charlie and Ginny's worried looks. Spotting the pair on the floor, Ginny let out a soft gasp, and Charlie exhaled deeply. He looked at Bill, and Bill assured him with his eyes that everything would be okay, and Charlie led Ginny away.

George didn't acknowledge their presence, just continued to sob, clutching at his older brother as though Bill were his last lifeline. Bill held George as close as he could without breaking the other boy, allowing his eyes to travel, examining the room. It was not meant for one person, Bill thought sadly; the absence was painfully obvious, and it almost hurt to look at the unoccupied side of the room. Nothing there had been touched, and Bill could see where Fred had left his clothes strewn on his unmade bed. The only thing that seemed to have been disturbed was a box that had been pulled out from underneath Fred's bed, the lid lying beside it. Bill recognized it as the "baby box" Mum had made for each of them- though for Fred and George she had only made one. It contained photos and scraps of memories, and it seemed George had been searching through the memories, looking for something.

And then Bill spotted it on the torn bed- George's bed- and though he couldn't quite see it from where he was, he was sure he knew what George had been looking at. It was a photograph of the twins when they were five. Bill could remember the day vividly, for he had been terrified out of his mind. He remembered how furious and scared Mum had been.

Fred and George had been playing outside, climbing a tree, when Fred suddenly fell. His cries alerted everyone in the house, and they all came running to find Fred sitting beneath the tree, clutching his broken leg.

George always had been the sensitive twin, Bill mused. Later that day, George decided he didn't want Fred to be alone in feeling the pain, so he went outside and broke his own leg; though when everyone found George holding his broken leg, he was smiling.

_"See, Freddie?"_ Bill remembered George saying happily. _"Now you're not alone."_ And Fred had sniffled and taken George's hand and told him how stupid he was, though both were grinning, and at that moment, Arthur had snapped a photo.

They had done everything together, including earning those injuries. It was unfair that the twins should be separated now, Bill thought angrily. After all that they'd been through together, it was wrong for them to be separated.

"It's all wrong," Bill muttered, burying his face in his brother's hair.

And so George sobbed his poor, broken heart out, and Bill let out a few tears for the loss of one brother and the pain of another, both sharing in the pain and the memories. They held onto each other as though they might never let go, as though afraid, one fearing he might be swept away in this current of pain if he let go, the other fearing that if he let go of his brother, he might never come back.


End file.
